


Pancakes

by kunstvogel



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern Era, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 09:03:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13520988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunstvogel/pseuds/kunstvogel
Summary: Tintin takes care of a sick Captain Haddock.





	Pancakes

Tintin knows something's up when he rouses to see Haddock still in bed. Usually, the captain would’ve been up at the crack of dawn, keeping his hands busy in the hours he merely  _ claims _ can't be bothered to wake up for. Years of sailing at sea, of course, had necessitated early awakenings.

But now, his broad, scarred back is exposed to Tintin, rising and falling gently with respiration. He  _ appears _ to be resting peacefully, and Tintin wonders if he's just being overly analytical, jumping to the worst-case scenario because one small thing is different. But then Haddock's breath hitches, and he startles awake, a series of painful-sounding dry coughs escaping him.

Tintin pulls himself up onto his elbows, curves a hand over Haddock's shoulder. He recoils, disquieted by the blazing heat he discovers there. Haddock turns to face him, blinking groggily.

“Tintin?"

"Hey," Tintin greets him. "I'd say good morning, but it's a quarter till noon."

Haddock blinks up at him slowly, opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a wet sneeze. He tries to brush it off, wipes his nose and sits up woozily. Tintin frowns at the sight, mentally preparing himself. He just  _ knows _ Haddock is going to be difficult today.

“You’re sick,” he states matter-of-factly. “I can handle breakfast.”

“I’m  _ fibe _ ,” comes the irritable, congested reply. “It’s jus’- eh, a-allergies.”

“We both know you don’t have any allergies,” Tintin retorts.

Haddock grumbles irritably, pawing at his reddened nose, but doesn’t push the issue. Tintin knows he’s just tired; once he wakes up, Haddock will be stubborn about everything. He decides to enjoy the complacency while it lasts, and pats Haddock on the knee before sliding out of bed and putting on a house robe. He gives the captain a kiss before shuffling over to the kitchen.

Haddock joins him once he’s got the coffee machine going. Tintin gently pushes him towards the table.

“Sit. You need to rest, and I  _ am _ capable of cooking, believe it or not.”

Haddock grumbles, “Blistering barnacles, lad, I’m not ah- a damn _ invalid _ ,” but concedes, sitting down with a huff of irritation. Tintin smiles and turns his attention to cooking, mixing the ingredients for pancake batter. Years of living alone in his flat had seen to it that he’s able to cook at least the basics, and pancakes turned out to be the simplest breakfast to cook that wasn’t totally lacking in flavor.

At the smell of food, Snowy comes bounding in, sniffing at his empty bowl and going to Tintin with a whine.

“Wait your turn, boy,” Tintin urges. “You’ll have bacon quickly enough.”

As promised, Tintin is soon serving Haddock a plate of pancakes with strawberry jam and bacon, and he plucks a few strips off to feed to Snowy. Haddock grunts a ‘thank you’ and tucks in as Tintin sets down a coffee and some cold medication for the Captain, then turns to prepare his own plate. A few minutes after, he returns to the table to eat.

The couple share their meal in a companionable silence, interrupted only by Haddock’s occasional cough, and the Captain dutifully takes the medicine upon finishing his meal. Tintin takes the dishes to the sink and rinses them quickly.

“Now for a bath,” Tintin declares, taking the Captain by his bicep.

“Alright, lad, no need ta’ baby me,” Haddock grouses, but he allows Tintin to lead him to the bathroom nevertheless, feeling unsteady on his feet. He sits on the toilet seat as Tintin runs the bath, testing the temperature with his fingers until he’s satisfied it’s comfortable, and then he’s urging Haddock out of his pajamas and into the tub. The boy has yet to adjust to the utility of undressing another man outside of the bedroom; his cheeks are ruddy and he avoids Haddock’s gaze for a while, fussing with the soaps until Haddock is buried under a froth of bubbles.

The warm humidity helps to ease the aching in Haddock’s temples and knees and he sighs, sinking deeper into the tub and letting his eyes fall shut. He’ll never say it aloud, but he’s grateful that Tintin seems to have taken a break from his adventuring for a while in favor of staying at Marlinspike, and, as he’d put it, “dealing with with his backlogged work.” The Captain’s age seems to be catching up with him now, blessing him with joint and back pain and the inability to sleep as long through the night. He often envies Tintin’s youthful energy, recalling the days when he, too, was blessed with such.

Regretfully, he’d spent it on other, more frivolous things than Tintin does now - things which no longer hold any value to him.

And then- then there was the war.

“Captain?”

Haddock opens his eyes, seeing Tintin above him.

“I- Do you want me to wash you?””

“Alright,” Haddock agrees amicably, sitting upright again. He tenses at the first touch of Tintin’s hands, but quickly relaxes, letting the boy lather soap across his shoulders and back. He doesn’t think of anything as Tintin washes him, merely enjoying the warm humidity of the room and the feeling of Tintin’s careful fingers working the knots out of his muscles. Haddock feels himself growing sleepy, and after Tintin urges him out of the tub, drying him off and dressing him in his favorite bathrobe, he lets the boy guide him to their bed.

“Too tired to argue, aren’t you?” Tintin teases, watching Haddock climb in.

“Yer kickin’ kept me awake all night,” Haddock sniffs. “Of course I’m tired.”

Tintin smiles, patting the Captain’s shoulder. “You’ll be alright,” he says. “Just rest.”

And so he does.


End file.
